League of Legends Champion Judgments
by Purplemoonsong
Summary: League judgments that I have written. Requests are allowed.
1. Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox

**Candidate:** Ahri

**Observation**

No one knows for certain what happens in the Reflection Chamber. All that the people of Valoran know of it are wild rumors. Unspeakable horrors awaiting the one who steps into it, torture, and other fantasies circulate Valoran. It is what prevents ordinary people from trying their hand at becoming a champion.

But even with this small safeguard, numerous people have tried their hand at becoming a champion, and did not succeed. Many were turned away at the first stage. Others entered the Reflection Chamber, and ran back out. Even when questioned, these individuals never spoke of what lies in the chamber. They merely shuddered, their eyes wide in terror. And others? Others became gibbering terror-filled wretches.

Ahri was not daunted by this talk. She marched up to the Institute of War, and requested to become a champion. A summoner interrogated her about her different abilities, and deemed her fit to become a champion after she proved herself in the Reflection Chamber.

She paces softly down the hall, her nine soft and fluffy tails bobbing behind her. Her long black hair flows over her shoulders, striking against her pearly skin. Two black furred ears stick out of her hair, and small brown whiskers adorn her cheeks, her large amber eyes glowing with expectation. She wears a red top with luxuriously embroidered sleeves, and a short white skirt. Hanging from her top is a crimson tassel set with a citrine gem. Her shoes are colored crimson to match her tassel, and clutched in one hand is a glowing sky-blue orb, churning wisps of an unknown material inside it.

The roof, painted with frescoes depicting lovely flowers and graceful vines arches overhead. The walls are white marble, clear, pure, and without blemishes. Fires crackle in gold braziers elevated on gold stands, illuminating Ahri's way, making her shadows dance against the ground.

Another set of double doors lies in front of her. But this time, unlike the gilded gold doors to the Institute, they are made of dark and foreboding ebony, out of place in the beautifully decorated hall. These are the doors to the Reflection Chamber.

Ahri flicks her ears at the faint echo of her shoes against the marble floors, but her mischievous smile stays on her beautiful face.

Finally, the echoing cadence of her footfalls against the ground stops as she comes to a halt before the ebony doors.

Strangely, no intricate carvings grace these doors. The only markings on the door are five words etched into the dark wood. _The truest opponent lies within._

Ahri examines the carving, her smile still on her face. Without a change in expression, a delicate hand reaches out and pushes the doors open.

They open without the slightest noise, and all that can be seen within is darkness. A cold wind blows out from the chamber, and ominous whispering can be heard from within.

Ahri flicks her ears again, before entering the Reflection Chamber.

**Judgment**

The doors shut of their own accord behind Ahri, enveloping her in the embrace of the darkness. Her keen fox-eyes are unable to see anything at all. If there were the slightest bit of light, Ahri would be able to see dimly. But there is no light at all. Even Ahri's glowing orb is gone, though she can sense that she is still using magic to ensure it remains levitating above her hand.

She closes her eyes for a brief moment.

When she opens them, the darkness is gone.

Sunlight filters through gaps in the viridescent leaves overhead, illuminating the rich chocolate colored soil underneath. Stalks of bright emerald green bamboo surround her, along with the brown shade of bark-covered tree trunks. Vines curl around these trees, reaching up towards the sky. Strange fruits of many different colors hang upon the trees, and delicate flowers blossom along the ground.

Ahri realizes where she is.

Her birthplace, a forest located in southern Ionia.

Then, she perceives something else.

_Why am I on all fours?_ Ahri wonders.

Ahri looks down at herself, and mentally gasps in horror.

Sleek, white fur. Four paws.

_No! I can't be a fox again! I can't! What have they done to me?_

The fox shakes her head, trying to transform herself back into a human.

Finally, Ahri gives up. Her ears and tails droop, and she stares down at the ground, padding in a random direction, not caring where she goes.

_How can I live without being human?_

The harsh cry of a raven startles her out of her reverie. She pauses. One of her feet seems damp. Ahri looks down upon it, only to see that it is stained scarlet.

She lifts up her head, and gazes at the scene before her.

Soldiers lie on the ground like fallen leaves in autumn, blood pooling around them, staining the field crimson. Some of them are still alive, moving weakly. Others are cold, bloodless, eyes open and glassy, still as stone.

_This isn't really happening. This… is just an illusion. One made to mimic my memories._

The memory is the master of the illusion. Ahri's dainty paws tread around dying and dead soldiers, just as she remembers, as she marches towards the place where she became human.

The sight of a man, robed in purple, encircled by a waning field of magic greets her fox eyes.

As she approaches him, something inside her is triggered.

The man sighs, his eyes closing, then becomes absolutely still as a sphere of glowing white life essence leaves his body. It wanders towards Ahri.

The fox stares at the sphere.

Strands of life essence suddenly detach themselves from the sphere, flowing into her mouth. She closes her eyes, exhilaration flowing through her as the life essence pours into her.

Then, the feeling fades away, and Ahri opens her eyes.

Gone is the sleek white fur, the four paws. In place of the fur is pale, creamy skin, and in place of the paws are hands and feet.

She is human.

Ahri runs towards the nearest reflective surface, a small pool of clear water, a surprising find considering the amount of blood around her. She gazes into it. As she gazes, she notices that the transformation is not complete. Black ears poke from out of her hair, and whiskers adorn her face. To her further dismay, she sees her nine white tails, floating behind her.

She needs more life essence to make her truly human.

The scene suddenly melts away in front Ahri's very eyes, like rain flowing down a window, giving way to a blinding light. Ahri shuts her eyes against it, hoping that her ordeal is over.

When she opens her eyes again, she is in a much more familiar place.

The dead cadaver of a man lies before her on the ground. His eyes are glassy, mouth open, spread-eagled upon the ground. Ahri closes her mouth as the last wisp of life essence enters her. A pang of guilt and regret wells up inside her, before she forces it away.

"Papa?" A boy opens the door to the house. "I'm home!"

His chocolate brown curls are mussed. His dark eyes, the same shade as his hair, filled with happiness. The pale skin of his cheeks is rosy, red lips curling up in a smile.

The minute he catches sight of Ahri, the happiness leaves his eyes. Then his eyes travel downwards to the dead man in front of her.

He opens his mouth to scream.

Ahri rushes towards him with inhuman speed, covering his mouth with a dainty hand. She shakes her head at the boy, but the boy struggles in her grip, trying to free himself. His hands reach out towards his father, clutching at the air desperately.

_No! Don't do it! He's only a child!_

Ahri tries her best to stop herself from doing what she is about to do, but the illusion is in control, and being influenced by her memories, it forces her towards her next action.

Ahri removes her hand, and replaces it with her lips a second later. Placing a hand on his heart, she directs a pulse of magic at his heart. It stops. Strands of his life essence detach from the sphere in his heart, making their way up his throat, into his mouth, and into hers. And she absorbs it. Every little bit of his life essence.

A few moments later, it is all over.

Ahri pushes the boy's body away from her, and it falls down, next to his father's body. His eyes, like his father's, are wide open and glassy. The rosy tint to his cheeks is gone, his hair losing its luster. She sits down heavily next to the corpse, a feeling of regret welling up inside her. This time, she cannot ignore it. The tightening feeling in her chest, her vision becoming blurry… Though she tries her best, she cannot stop a sob of regret.

_He was only a child…_

She blinks a few times, trying to clear away the tears, before noticing that the darkness has returned. But she can still see the boy.

Suddenly, the boy's eyes open. "Why do you want to join the League of Legends?" He speaks in his sweet child's voice.

Ahri's smile has been wiped clean off her face from what she has just gone through. She sighs, though she knows that the boy is actually an illusion that a summoner has conjured, and his voice plucked out of her memories and manipulated by the summoner too. These are not the boy's words… these are a summoner's.

"I want a way to become human without all this regret," she whispers.

"And how does it feel, exposing your mind?"

"I know you don't understand me," Ahri replies, the tears in her eyes shining like crystals caught in the sunlight. "How can you? But exposing my mind makes me feel like you do. And… it makes me feel better."

"Welcome to the League of Legends, Ahri, the Nine Tailed Fox." The child says, his voice echoing throughout the room.

Ahri watches the body of her last victim vanish, and looks up, realizing that the once dark room is now illuminated, by what means, she does not know. Magic, most likely.

The Doors of Acceptance are open, allowing her in.

Ahri picks herself up, and, her footsteps heavy, walks through the gold double doors.


	2. Anivia, the Cryophoenix

**Candidate:** Anivia

**Observation**

There was no interrogation this time.

Anivia _is_ a legend, and always has been. A colossal bird made of ice, having lived a thousand lifetimes, the eternal guardian of the Freljord, an icy tundra in the north of Valoran. Many dismiss her as a tale to comfort children. But sometimes, very rarely, one will see the tip of a blue wing emerge out of the clouds.

She is a mysterious being of the coldest winter, the embodiment of ice magic, the ancient protector of the Freljord. She commands all the power and fury of the land she protects, calling on snow and bitter wind to defend from all that would harm it.

Anivia lands softly on the marble floor. Her beak connects with the gold doors, sending beautiful patterns of frost across the metal. The doors swing open at her touch, and the cryophoenix enters the building.

A long hallway stretches in front of her. Long, yes, but not wide enough, or tall enough for the majestic bird to fly to her destination.

Anivia tucks in her wings, and begins her walk down the hall, her icy talons clicking softly against the marble floor. A great purple gem is embedded in her forehead, and her eyes glow like immense twin rubies. A soft crackling sound can be heard when she moves, like icicles splintering against the ground. Her wings are blue like the sunlight glancing of a glacier in the Freljord. Her feathers rustle slightly, displaying the crystallized ice and snowflakes around them. A crown of icicles adorns her head.

Her eyes glide over the marble walls, the fire crackling in the golden braziers elevated on gold stands, and finally, it reaches the ceiling. No decoration, no beauty to grace the plainness of the white ceiling.

Anivia stretches upwards, and touches the ceiling gently with a beak.

Frost spirals against it, making delicate patterns against the whiteness of the ceiling. Anivia settles back down, content with the beautifying of this place.

In front of her, the air seems to grow colder than before. It is still warmer than what she is used to, but the great cryophoenix can sense the change.

A set of double doors lies in front of her. Made of dark and foreboding ebony, they seem out of place in the marble hall.

They are the doors to the Reflection Chamber.

Anivia halts in front of the door, her eyes fixed upon the words etched deeply into the wood.

_The truest opponent lies within_.

Before she can touch the doors with her beak to open them, the doors swing open of their own accord. Ominous whispering can be heard from within as Anivia walks into the room.

**Judgment**

The doors shut behind Anivia just like they opened, of their own accord. Only darkness reigns in this place.

Anivia blinks.

When she opens her eyes, she is in the place she loves best. She is at her home, a nest, lovingly made, on the slopes of the Ironspike Mountains. High enough so that none can reach her, yet low enough that she may see all that goes on below.

Below her is the icy tundra known as the Freljord. The whiteness of the combined ice, snow, and frost glimmers in the sunlight. Anivia smiles at the beauty of her land.

A wave of iciness slices through her chest.

Anivia gasps slightly, shivering from the cold. Not something one born of ice does, usually. But this iciness only came when she was… dying.

She can see her age in her feathers. The feathers are hard and cold, frozen, not merely coated in ice like when she is younger. She must have been alive for a long time. She needs to be reborn.

_This is a memory, nothing but a memory. _Anivia grasps at reason, trying to reassure herself. But still, the icy pain slices through her, as though it were cleaving her in half.

Anivia falls on one side, closing her great ruby eyes.

The pain stops.

She opens them again to see herself in the confines of an egg.

When Anivia dies, it takes time for her to be reborn. Like the fiery phoenixes that are consumed by fire, she is consumed with ice. A great pillar of ice will stand where she once was, and over the course of three months, the pillar will slowly shrink into an egg. Nine months after that, Anivia is reborn as a mere fledgling, with no ice upon her feathers.

Anivia unleashes an orb of ice, shattering the egg.

When she examines herself, she sees what she expects: she sees that she is a fledgling. Her blue feathers are without ice, and she is small, smaller than before. Smaller than when she is about to die; smaller than when she is about to be reborn.

That is when she notices it, and feels it.

Two mortal armies locked together in a great struggle, the flash of steel against steel. She sees the spreading red against the ground, the roar of hundreds of men battering against each other.

And yet she feels cold. Colder than the ice that she represents…

The cryophoenix knows that this is a memory, and she shudders inside, knowing what comes next.

_Let them fight! Fools!_ Anivia shakes her head. _What am I thinking? What is this darkness in my heart?_

As Anivia watches, the ice along the side of her vision begins to grow darker, the spreading blackness snaking towards the warring armies.

The warring armies don't notice until it's too late.

Black spikes of ice impale the first man. He convulses once before lying still. The second is entombed within walls of black ice. The third crushed by the ice into an unrecognizable crimson pulp.

And so the carnage goes on, but now entirely one sided.

_I can't be a mere guardian anymore._ Anivia thinks.

The black ice has slaughtered every last one of the soldiers. And now, a woman emerges.

This woman does not walk, but moves forward on a platform of black icicles. She is adorned with strange blue-black armor. Her skin is light blue, almost as though she were deathly cold, her hands and upper arms glowing with power. A strange spiked headdress rests upon her head. Her thin lips are pressed together in a cruel smile of triumph, and her white hair floats behind her in a braid.

Anivia spreads her wings. _This is the source of the corruption._

She dives down towards the woman.

The cryophoenix knew what would happen. It was a memory. She knew that she would dive down towards the woman. The woman would shriek at the very sight of the great cryophoenix. Her platform of corrupted ice would carry her away as quickly as she could, and the black ice would recede, for a time.

But that doesn't happen.

The woman makes a quick sweeping motion with her arm, and a spear of black ice flies towards Anivia. The unprepared cryophoenix's wing is pierced, and she begins falling.

Her landing is painful, knocking the wind out of her. She gasps, before righting herself. She draws the tainted ice out of her wing with her beak, and drops it on the ground. A single drop of blood falls from it, and splattered onto the snow, leaving speckles of red behind.

_That didn't happen in my memory! How can this be?_ Anivia watches as the woman approaches, her thin-lipped smile of victory already on her lips. She slowly extends her hand, a shard of her warped black ice forming in the palm of her hand. Anivia braces herself for the blow, ready to summon an ice storm to batter this woman to pieces.

"Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Anivia?" The woman says, suddenly. Her eyes are blank, vacant, without the triumph that was there a mere moment ago.

Anivia frowns, and glances around her. The darkness has returned, leaving only the cryophoenix and the strange woman alone in the dark, together.

_This is an illusion. And that is a summoner speaking._

"We must unite the Freljord." Anivia says, her voice cold like the ice coating her wings.

"Why do you want to join the League, Anivia?" The woman repeats.

"I will destroy her. I must protect the Freljord. She is a threat." Anivia insists.

"Why do you want to join the League, Anivia?"

"If her evil takes root in my home, it will eventually take root in my heart. Such is the way my destiny is tied to the land." Anivia utters her more personal reason, almost wincing at how selfish she sounds. But she keeps her composure.

The woman's lips curve upwards in another thin smile. "And how does it feel to expose your mind?"

"I do what I must for the Freljord."

The woman raises her eyebrow skeptically.

"And myself…" Anivia murmurs softly.

"Welcome to the League of Legends, Anivia, the Cryophoenix."

The darkness vanishes, as does the woman. The room is illuminated, and in front of Anivia, the Doors of Acceptance are open, allowing her into the Institute of War.


	3. Ashe, the Frost Archer

**Candidate:** Ashe

**Observation**

She is clad in her usual backless navy blue and gold dress, which falls down to her knees. Matching stockings and gloves adorn her arms and legs. Gold armbands encircle her arms, and she wears a glowing cobalt ring on the middle finger of her left hand. A hood covers her silver hair, with a cape attached to it. Her hand clutches an ornate bow made entirely out of enchanted ice. The great bow of Avarosa herself.

Ashe's grip on her bow tightens as she approaches the foreboding ebony doors to the Reflection Chamber. _The truest opponent lies within_.

The Freljordian's stoic expression hardens slightly, like water freezing into ice. Her fingers brush against the doors lightly.

They swing open, and without a glance backwards, Ashe walks into the Reflection Chamber.

**Judgment**

The moment she crosses the threshold, the doors swing shut behind her, and she is standing in a pine forest on the icy tundra known as the Freljord.

She looks down at herself, and gasps. She is dressed in her usual garb, the familiar shape of a bow in her hand, but her hair! Her hair is dark brown, not silver.

She looks down even further, to her trusty bow. Instead of the bow of Avarosa, Ashe is holding the bow she had before. A wooden bow carved with intricate floral designs. She feels an unfamiliar pressure on her back, so she reaches over her shoulder to feel it.

Her fingers meet soft feathers. She frowns, and pulls one of them upwards. It's surprisingly heavy for a feather. But when she pulls it out and holds it out in front of her, she realizes the truth.

An arrow. Lying in her hand. An _arrow_.

_I haven't needed an arrow ever since I found the bow of Avarosa._ Ashe muses, running her fingers over the wood. _But then, I don't have the bow right now. I wonder why._

The next moment, Ashe hears the cry of a hawk. She looks up from her arrow, and sees her tribesmen approaching, with swords drawn.

_An assassination attempt!_ Ashe quickly puts the arrow to the string of her bow, and fires it.

One man falls limply onto the ground. The others release battle cries from their lips, and charge their newly crowned queen.

Ashe knows that she has no time to fire another arrow. Terror consumes her, and she turns on her heel and races away, dodging trees and various plants. Her feet make crunching sounds on the ice and pine needles as she runs for her life._ Please, let me live through this day!_

She allows herself a fleeting glance backwards. The assassins seem no further than before. In desperation, she throws down her bow. Her quiver is next. No longer weighed down, she runs faster, hoping to put some distance between her and the murderous rebellion.

She didn't know how long she ran. The ache in her legs was dull, muted. Her lungs burned, her breath came in gasps, and her feet had begun to hurt. Her arms and hands were cut in numerous places, where she had carelessly pushed aside sharp foliage, or run into needle-sharp leaves.

She hears the cry of a hawk, the one that had warned her. She looks up, and sees it flying above her. It lets out another cry, and begins flying forward.

_I might as well follow it._

Ashe runs after the bird, her ears still echoing with the sounds of the men running after her.

Finally, she bursts into a clearing in the forest. The hawk is perched on a pile of stones, an ancient Freljordian burial cairn.

The hawk screeches again, and flies up into the air.

Ashe slowly approaches the mound.

She shivers, an unnatural cold seeming to bore through her skin and into her bones, almost freezing her in place. Before, her hot breath had come out in little puffs of steam when it met the frigid Freljord air. Now, her breath feels icy in her mouth, and Ashe perceives that it had turned into frost.

The stone at the top of the cairn is marked with a single rune: Avarosa.

Her tribesmen burst into the clearing. Ashe lifts the runestone from the cairn to defend herself. She gasps when she sees what is hidden underneath it.

A beautiful ornate bow, carved from ice. Ashe grabs it, and cries out in pain when frost forms on her fingers.

_It's life or death!_

Ashe pulls the bow from its resting place, and shudders as a wave of cold flows through her. Then it stops, and she realizes that her fear is gone. Where fear was is now pure, icy power.

She turns to face the assassins, and draws her bow.

"You don't have any arrows!" A man sneers. "How are you supposed to defeat us?"

They laugh, closing in slowly, already basking in triumph, and savoring their kill.

Ashe wills arrows made of pure ice to form, out of the cold, crisp air. Sharp gasps can be heard as Ashe fires a single volley of these icy arrows at the insurrection. All of them hit their target and sink into flesh. Blood flows down from the wounds as they fall onto the ground limply.

All but one of them, that is. He sways in place. The arrow sticks out of his chest, eyes strangely blank. "Why do you want to join the League, Ashe?"

Ashe is taken aback at his words, until she remembers that she is really in the Reflection Chamber at the Institute of War. _The illusion is so real…_

"The Freljord must be reunited." Ashe replies, regaining her icily stoic composure. "Together we are stronger."

The man smirks. "A good choice of words. But that isn't the real reason, is it?"

"What?" Ashe asks, incredulous.

The man grins, and suddenly the scene in front of her melts away into a different one.

Ashe looks down at herself. Her hand still clutches her trusty ice bow, and her clothes are different again.

She cringes at the white outfit, almost exactly like what she usually wears, only differing in color. The traditional Freljordian White Garments of Victory.

"Attack!" A voice calls out behind her.

Ashe turns, to see a squadron of archers. Her archers. She smiles, drawing her bow and willing arrows of ice to appear.

"Bad weather coming." An archer remarks. Ashe looks back at him with a smile.

"You would notice, Gavin."

He smiles back at her, firing at another enemy.

"But really, look." He points upward. Ashe looks, and sees dark storm clouds gathering.

"That's odd." She murmurs.

The wind begins to rise.

"I know what this is!" Another archer suddenly hisses. "The Gelid Vortex!"

Then, the wind is all Ashe can hear. Howling in her ears, she closes her eyes, crouching down to prevent herself from being blown away. She tightens her grip on her bow, shielding her face.

Then, all is black.

When she awakens, she sits up slowly. She notices that her hair has turned the color of the arctic tundra. She touches a strand before she stands, and looks around at the tattered corpses of her friends and foes alike.

The one nearest to her is Gavin.

"Gavin!" She runs over to the corpse. Her hands glide over the multiple ice shards in his chest.

"Please don't be dead." She begs. "Gavin…" She rocks back and forth on her heels, holding his corpse to her chest, tears running down her pale cheeks.

Suddenly, Gavin's eyes open. "Why do you want to join the League, Ashe?"

Ashe snarls, realizing that the summoners have tricked her again with their illusion. She shoves Gavin's body away from her, and snatches up her bow.

"Wretches." She spits, before firing a single arrow into Gavin's chest.

The scene vanishes, and Ashe finds herself standing in a plain room, lit by torches fixed to the walls. In front of her stands a summoner wearing a hooded purple robe.

"Why do you want to join the League, Ashe?" The summoner inquires.

"I failed my people once." She hisses. "I will not do so again. With the Freljord united, we can finally all live in peace."

"How does it feel to expose your mind?"

"You have seen my loyalty to my land and people. It is a good thing." Ashe responds coldly.

As she walks through the Doors of Acceptance, her expression is stoic, just like it was when she was entering the Reflection Chamber.


End file.
